Unsettling Dream

I have to say that most of the dreams I've had recently, haven't been much fun. Nothing to laugh about. But yesterday night's was the wierdest. Who knew I could dream about being in ACS?!

The setting was immediately after the ending of a school carnival, which actually wasn't on school compounds at all. More like a well lavishly decorated ruins of the now, outdated Byblos. (How I knew it was a carnival? Well... you know, that whenever you dream you get this "feeling" that tells you what something is or not. Yeah, that thing. It IS under your control still though.)

But... how in the world did it end up with all my classmates in my French class?!

And having a friendly invitation from my friend teacher for all of us to have a study period at his house on the day in which we had French as a first subject?!

After hearing his offer, obviously I couldn't help thinking, "What the hell is wrong with him?" But the dream was just so vivid that I could hardly tell (when I woke up) whether it was real or not.

Right after the carnival we were at, the days like just passed quickly. And it came to the morning in which our first class lesson was French. The day, as lucky as it could get, was raining -_-. With cloudy skies and all. Nadim (driver) had to drive me past the ACS compound (which surprisingly appeared like the inside of Sri Utama School Malaysia). I remember couldn't helping to look at it and hope I wasn't going to be scared half to death that day.

We arrived at the door steps of the house and Nadim dropped me off.

I gawked at how large the house was... and... WHO IN THE WORLD DID THE ARCHITECTURE?!

IT WAS AMAZING! Like... a dream home to me. I'm too lazy to describe.

I rang the doorbell, to have the strange feeling that I was the first one to arrive. I looked at my wrist watch on my left hand to see it's hands pointing to, "7.10am." Wow. It must have been little traffic. I had left the house merely 10 minutes before at 7.00am.

My mind kept on drifting on the thought of what the lesson was going to be like.

Being first, was I going to be excrutiatingly tortured by being asked questions in French and to answer in French? Or maybe, I was going to be fed to pirahhnas. Suddenly, I heard a loud scream (the typical French teacher's), "Who is it at the door?! It's so early in the morning!" He definitely proved the fierce temper I was just thinking about.

I wondered what he meant. And the instant the door swung open, I knew, I had come at the wrong moment. My French teacher (in his 60s) looked like a 70s hippie outfit. He had woke up and got out of bed.

His face still held the threatening scowl that he often used during class lessons to make us all shut up. I gulped and could feel a gag attempting to escape my throat. I scoffed, "French class, Mr. VR."

His expression of anger suddenly changed into an expression of shock and he said, "You're an hour early." I stood there, eyes wandering from the door frame, to the house environment behind him, his angry scowl and back to the door frame again. Perhaps I needed to call Nadim again. He sighed and said, "Come on in and have a seat," casually waving his arm to a 3 seater long navy blue couch. I brushed the soles of my shoes on the brush mat at the entrance.

I took a seat and just stared at the marble tiled floor below me. Clasping my hands together and hoping the others would come soon.

I had just realized that the clock had been turned back an hour due to hour saving. I had been so stupid to have forgotten. (Ignore the Nadim bit. I didn't get why he was there so early either.) However, I had a gut feeling that I was going to sit there alone for a while.

Suddenly, I heard a small giggle from behind the staircase a few metres away from me. I was sitting in the living room by the small SONY television by the way. "Sony Malaysian product," I thought happily. I turned up to see... terrifyingly see... a little girl. And a lady who appeared out from the kitchen soon after from behind the little girl.

Wow. The lady was gorgeous and the girl, appeared to have features just like her. The little girl looked to be around 2-3 years old. "... Oh my... That's his wife and child," I had thought.

HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN? My french teacher isn't even married!

Shuks.

Has/Had my mind gone loony?

His wife and daughter both had bright hazelnut eyes. The wife, with smooth-long-gleaming blonde hair whilst the daughter's, still short but equally as soft.

But I couldn't believe it. Wasn't he a single, 60-year old and most of all a fierce tempered man?

My dream totally messed things up.

Terrifying dream.
Written by,
Evelyn~Ocean Lover